A Break
by Addicted1
Summary: If Angels could fall in love . . . a Monica/Andrew short story


          Monica tossed the Frisbee back to the child, who had just barely missed catching it before a gust of wind carried it her way.  Andrew smiled as he watched her concentrate on placing the disc right in front of the little boy, who grinned as it landed perfectly in his hands.  Monica smiled broadly at his success, and the two angels continued their walk.  They loved just strolling together, whether observing humans, discussing whatever was on their minds, or simply being in each other's presence.  Assignments like the one they were currently on were welcome if only for the reason that opportunities arose, sometimes several times a day, for the best friends to be together.  The two treasured each other; time spent together was pressure-free and rejuvenated both their souls.

          The park was always full of people this time of day—mid-afternoon, right after school.  In addition to the group of kids playing Frisbee, a couple was strolling along the waterfront, the crew team from the local high school was practicing, and a family was having an afternoon picnic.  Though the specific individuals visiting the grass and water changed over time, the activities never did.

          Andrew was musing over this thought—the timelessness of God's creation and the blessing of enjoying it—when Monica spoke, pulling him from his reverie.

"Andrew, do you ever wonder what it would be like to be married?"

          Andrew raised an eyebrow in surprise.  The way Monica's mind worked had always fascinated him, but questions like these still managed to catch him off guard.

          "Not until this moment, Angel Girl, but it is an interesting thought.  What made you think of it?"

          "I was just thinking over the assignment with Denny and Ellen and Greg.  I had a harder time getting Ellen to listen to me.  She kept saying that I couldn't understand because I hadn't been married.  Eventually she heard the truth, but part of me wonders if she has a point," Monica paused, trying to organize her ideas.

"What exactly do you mean?"  Andrew asked, a bit confused by this entire conversation.

Monica started walking faster, matching her train of thought.  "Just that I've been thinking, and I really don't know what that is like, what it feels like, to commit to someone without guarantees that everything will turn out well."

"You've committed to God and working for Him," Andrew countered.

"True, but I know God.  I know God's love.  I feel it constantly," Monica replied, choosing her words carefully.  "Angels don't need faith, Andrew.  We are witnesses to Him and his miracles and his love every day.  Humans don't have that kind of reinforcement, especially in each other."

"Well," Andrew did not know quite how to respond to this idea.  This conversation bewildered him, especially as his own feelings toward Monica were already quite confused.  "I suppose to really love someone," Andrew stumbled, his mind whirling, "you have to have faith in them, and marriage would be an expression of that love, as well as that faith."

"Hmmm . . ." Monica's brow furrowed in deep thought, completely unconscious of the turbulence inside her best friend's mind.

They walked for a few moments in companionable silence, as Monica mulled over Andrew's answer and he attempted to sort out the many confusing feelings brought to the surface by her question.

"So, do angels ever marry?"  Monica stopped walking to face Andrew looked at her so quickly at her question that he tripped.  He would have fallen rather painfully, but Monica caught his torso, supporting him while he regained his balance.

"Well, do they?"  She waited for her answer, her honest, innocent eyes looking into his face.

Andrew's gaze turned toward the sky, searching for guidance.  If he did not know that Monica was the sweetest, most loving creature in all of God's kingdom, he would have been sure that his friend had joined into some kind of conspiracy against his sanity.

"Legend has it that some have," Andrew began slowly, "but, Angel Girl, even I haven't been around long enough to know if the stories are true."  He pinched her cheek playfully as she laughed.  He had successfully dodged that bullet, at least for the time being.

The two continued to giggle as they walked along the wooded path, Monica grabbing Andrew's hand.  This simple gesture, so common between the two friends, had a silencing effect on Andrew, whose giggles subsided with his acute awareness of her touch.  Her companion's sudden silence, however, went unnoticed by Monica, who had just spotted her favorite place in the park.

"Swings!" she exclaimed.  "Please, Andrew, can we?"

Andrew, who could deny her nothing, especially something that plainly gave her so much joy, simply smiled at her.

"Thank you!"  Still clutching his hand, Monica jogged with him over to the playground.  Her eyes fell, however, as a child climbed onto the last empty swing.

Andrew, knowing her disappoint, pivoted her body toward a solution.  "The tire swing is still open . . ."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than she bolted for the old tire.  He stood, laughed in her glee, watching her spin and twist, her eyes wide and her laugh ringing with joy.  Her auburn hair flew through the air, as her slim frame spun around and around in circles.  He was riveted, fixated.

"How long have you been together?"

A voice was addressing him.  "Huh?" Andrew turned, confused.  He had barely heard the woman; he was so completely occupied with the sight before him.

"I just asked how long the two of you have been together," the young mother smiled at his obvious infatuation.

"Years . . ." Andrew's voice trailed, as he continued to watch Monica enjoy the simple pleasure of an old tire swing.

"Are you married?"

Now the lady had his full attention. He turned to look at her for the first time in their exchange and slowly, with a tinge of something that sounded like regret to the woman, "No."

The woman looked him up and down.  Such a nice man, she thought.  And he is so devoted to her.

"Well," she said, "maybe you should be."

Andrew, who had once again turned to watch Monica, turned back to the lady so quickly he could have gotten whiplash.  Complete surprise was written all across his face, but the young mother's young son pulled at her hand.  She simply winked, and then turned away.

This park expedition was becoming too much for Andrew.  The woman must be in on the conspiracy against his sanity.  He looked back at Monica, who was finally tiring from her acrobatic endeavors.  She looked up at him, smiled, and waved him over to her.  Andrew smiled, thoughts of the other lady out of his head, as he walked toward the lovely Irish lass seated on the tire swing.

"Sit," she commanded.

"Monica," Andrew's voice was wary.  "We aren't both going to fit on that tire."  He eyed the old piece of rubber suspiciously.

Monica laughed at her friend's cautiousness.  "Of course we will fit.  See, you sit here," she pointed to the piece next to her, "and then we both stretch our legs to the other side, so that they crisscross."

"Okay," Andrew climbed in beside his dearest friend.  With much maneuvering, the two achieved the crisscross balance that Monica described.

"There," she stated triumphantly.  "I told you we could do it." She sat up a bit straighter with this announcement of their success.

"Hey, I trusted you!" he shot back.  "But, I think you are sitting up way too straight there, Miss Monica . . ."

She shrieked as he began tickling her sides.  She twisted and turned, but only succeeded in causing the tire swing to jerk with her, making the two of them laugh even harder.

Finally, dizzy and breathless, the pair leaned next to each other on a chain support of the swing, spinning slowly as they relaxed with each other.

"Andrew," Monica whispered.  "Would you do me a favor?"

Andrew faced her, "Of course.  What do you need?"

"Could you please untie my hair?" she stifled a giggle, until Andrew burst out laughing at the site of Monica's lovely auburn hair effectively tangled into the chain links of the swing.

"I don't know, Monica," Andrew teased.  "I think your hair looks nice that way, though I've never seen anyone else with that specific hair accessory before . . ."

"Andrew!" she pleaded, taking his hand.  "Please!"

"Well, if you are sure . . ." he winked at her, as he began releasing the chains from the auburn mass.

_Several minutes later, his task completed, Andrew resumed his comfortable position next to his friend, stroking her hair and continuing to run his fingers through it._

A contented sigh escaped Monica and she slid closer into him, resting her head on his shoulder and reaching her arms around his waist.  Andrew smiled and held her close.

After a couple of moments in their own serene world, Andrew and Monica were abruptly reminded of the one around them.  

"Dad!" a child stomped his foot.  "I don't want to leave now!"

"Come on.  It's already late.  We need to get supper ready for your mom."

Monica and Andrew simply looked at each other until Andrew finally spoke.

"It's getting late, darlin'.  We need to leave or we are going to be late to meeting Tess."

Monica nodded her head, "I suppose it is getting late.  I must have lost track of time, having a wee bit too much fun on this swing," Monica gave it a farewell pat before grasping Andrew's hand for the walk back.

**************************************************************************

"We made it," Monica breathed a sigh of relief as she and Andrew entered the club just in time to see Tess take the microphone onstage.

"Over here," Andrew motioned Monica to a table with a clear view of the stage.  He held her chair out as she took a seat.

The two quietly sipping on their drinks, enjoying the sound of Tess's voice, when Andrew noticed a man sitting alone at the bar, who had clearly noticed Monica.  His usual protective instincts aroused, Andrew kept a watchful eye.  Something else fluttered within him, though.  Other, more confusing feelings tied themselves up in the pit of his stomach.  Was he jealous?  The thought was absurd.

"May I have this dance?" the man from the bar offered his hand to Monica.  Apparently, Andrew's 'watchful eye' had been turned inward, while the man walked over to their table.

Monica panicked.  Something about the way this guy looked at her made her shudder.  "Well, umm", she looked towards Andrew for help.

"This dance is already taken," Andrew stood beside Monica's chair.

"Oh, sorry," the man retreated back to the bar.

"Thank you," Monica looked up at Andrew.  "Don't worry.  You don't need to dance with me."

"Oh, that is where you are wrong, Monica," Andrew gazed down at her, offering his hand.  "I do need to dance with you."

She smiled, took his hand, and glided onto the floor with him.

He held her close, as the pair moved to the rhythms of the jazz band.  The number of songs was lost on them; the rest of eternity would not have been long enough for them to finish their dance.

Opening his eyes at the beginning chords of his favorite song, "What a Wonderful World," Andrew saw the young mother from the playground.  Apparently the couple had found a babysitter for the evening.  His mind roused from the happiness of just being near Monica, he once again tried to understand the whirlwind of conversation from the afternoon.

"Monica?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you ask if angels could get married?" Andrew asked her.

"Huh?" Monica lifted her head from his shoulder to look into her friend's face.

"Earlier.  You were thinking about the assignment, so we were discussing marriage, then you asked."

          "Oh, yeah," Monica cut him off, as she, now fully alert, recalled the situation.  She looked down and spoke slowly at first, then speeding up, "Well, after your explanation of love and faith, I didn't understand why marriage had to be restricted to humans."

"Oh," Andrew's face was downcast.  For a brief moment he had allowed himself to hope that she had been thinking of him.  I am a silly, silly angel, Andrew scolded himself, of course she doesn't feel that way about me.

"I mean," Monica was talking again, and she was looking directly into Andrew's face.  "I love you with all of my heart, and I have complete faith in you . . ." her voice trailed off, as she stared into his shoulder again, unable to meet his eyes.

"Me too, me too, darlin'," Andrew murmured in her ear.  He held her closer, if that was even possible.  Having her in his arms felt so right.  One of her arms along his shoulder and neck with his encircling her waist, and their two other hands intertwined against his chest. 

He released his hand to brush an auburn strand from her face.  She smiled at his touch, using her free hand to wrap around the back of his neck.

"Look, honey," the lady motioned to her husband as they were dancing.  "That's the couple I told you about, you know, with the swing and all."

"Oh," he responded, nodding.  "You're right.  They do look great together.  And," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "I think we should follow their example."

His wife smiled broadly, as her husband kissed her.


End file.
